


Arsenic and Old Lace

by cheerfulmorgue



Series: Theatre to Sherlock [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, I needed an Elaine so I chose Molly, If I could have written this without ships I would have, M/M, Missing Persons, Mrs Hudson isn't who she says she is, Murder, Poisoning, Post-The Final Problem, Sherlolly - Freeform, but since Sherlolly is in there I threw in another ship, if you squint you can see some Mystrade, just a little bit, mystrade
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-20
Updated: 2018-06-20
Packaged: 2019-05-25 20:53:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,802
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14985380
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cheerfulmorgue/pseuds/cheerfulmorgue
Summary: After Sherrinford, Mrs Hudson's sister, Abby, moves in with her to help in the months after the explosion at Baker Street. After three months of renovation Sherlock finally moves back in only to find that Mrs Hudson has a secret life hiding in 221c.





	Arsenic and Old Lace

**Author's Note:**

> A short fanfiction inspired by my favourite play of all time: Arsenic and Old Lace by Joseph Kesselring! It's comedic AND dramatic, perfect for our Baker Street boys and their friends.

   “Oh, yes indeed. My sister Martha and I have been talking all week about the Sherrinford case. It was truly awful, Mr Holmes. In just five short years she nearly destroyed the world.” Abigail Brewster set a plate of scones with jam on the side table next to the armchair her guest sat in.

   “Yes, and now she’s been stopped. It’s very gratifying indeed Ms Brewster.” The eldest Holmes checked his watch, then returned his hands to the end of his brolly. “Now, then, when will your sister be getting back? My little brother has informed me that he will be moving back upstairs today. After three months! He’ll finally be out of my hair. Anyways, I was hoping to drop off some money for her to apologize for the trauma my sister may have caused her. Though seeing as I’ve been sitting here for two hours, I might be able to just hand it to my brother himself.”

   The woman, only slightly younger than the landlady, nudged the plate towards the man. “Won’t you have another scone, Mr Holmes?”

   Mycroft held back a sigh and faked a smile.“No, I’m afraid I’ll have no appetite for dinner now. I always eat too many of your scones just to taste that lovely jam.”

   “But you haven’t tried the quince! We’ve always put a little apple in with it to take the tartness out.”

   “No, thank you.” But Abigail could tell he was very tempted.

   She gave him a bright smile. “We’ll send you over a jar.”

   His eyes widened and he looked down at his stomach before shaking his head. “No, no. You keep it here so I can be sure of having your scones with it.” The woman gave him a nod and she looked around the kitchen. “You know, Ms Brewster, while my brother is absent, war and violence seem far removed from these surroundings.”

   “Martha always tells me that Sherlock is always shooting up the walls and shouting and of course there was the explosion three months ago, but ever since I moved in I couldn't agree less. Of course, the source of her complaining isn’t currently living here, but it does seem to be very peaceful at the moment, doesn’t it?”

   Mycroft smirked. “My brother is definitely a … character. But, yes. It does seem peaceful. The virtues of another day – they’re all here in this flat. The gentle virtues that went out with candlelight and good manners and low taxes. And then, of course, Sherlock is about to move back in a ruin it all.”

   “Oh, Martha said that that poor boy always has to work so late. You know, she told me he’s taking that Molly Hooper to the theatre again tonight. I’d never have imagined him to be a theatre tonight. Apparently, they’re seeing Les Miserables on the West End. I’d never have imagined him to be a fan of the theatre!”

   For the first time that evening Mycroft chuckled. “He isn’t a fan at all.” He allowed himself to recall all of the fights he and Sherlock got into when the subject of theatre came up. It was a tradition that one of the boys take their parents to see a show whenever they came into town and the last time it was Mycroft. He had to suffer through such hits as “One Day More” and “On My Own” while Sherlock sat at his flat, drinking champagne with his .... goldfish. “Anyway, it’s hardly a big deal. If I’ve learned one thing from Sherrinford it’s that my brother can’t seem to handle caging up his emotions. I’ve always told him it was best to keep them locked away but, perhaps he should make an exception for his feelings towards Dr Hooper.”

   Abigail grabbed a nearby broom and began sweeping the linoleum. “Martha and I are so glad it’s Molly that Sherlock takes to the theatre with him.”

   “Well, it’s a new experience for me to see my brother accompanying Dr Hooper to her home at 3 o’clock in the morning.”

   “Oh, Mr Holmes, I hope you don’t disapprove of Molly.”

   “Well–”

   “She really is so, so lovely. I only met her three months ago, back when I moved in with Martha, but she is just so kind and sweet–”

   He held up a hand to quiet her. “Of course, Ms Brewster. And so I’ll say immediately that I believe Dr Hooper herself to be a worthy lady. But I must also admit that I have watched the growing intimacy between her and my brother with some trepidation. For one reason, Ms Brewster.”

   “You mean her celiacs?”

   He furrowed his brows, then raised one as his cocked his head. “Her what?”

   “Her celiac’s disease. She’s bothered with it so, poor girl.” The woman grinned. “She always sneaks a scone or two, though. Says she regrets it later but it’s all worth it for the jam.”

   “No, Ms Brewster, I’ll be frank with you. I’m speaking of Dr Hooper’s unfortunate connection to sentiment and her ability to, shall we say, see my brother for who he truly is.”

   She paused her sweeping. “Who he truly is? Oh no, Mr Holmes! Sherlock seems to be quite the gentleman, quirky as he is.”

   “I am not speaking of my brother’s mannerisms but his habits. Dr Hooper can see through his tales unlike anyone ever has, aside from myself. Sometimes, though, he has to tell these tales to save lives. If he had to save her with a tale and she saw through it, she could get hurt. And hurting her would only hurt him worse, as I witnessed back in Sherrinford.” He grimaced. “I never wish to see my brother that distraught again.”

   There was knock at the door and Abigail set her broom aside. “Oh, no. Did Martha leave her keys here again?” She laughed. “Always leaving the keys!”

She disappeared and Mycroft heard her greeting someone who was not the landlady. He sighed and glanced at his watch again. It had now been two and a half hours. He might as well just leave the check on the table, stuff a couple of scones in his pockets, and leave. Say there’s a government emergency, anything to get him out of this flat and away from Martha Hudson’s sister!

But his thoughts came too late as Ms Brewster entered the kitchen again followed by Greg Lestrade.

“Oh, Detective Inspector! Have you met Sherlock’s brother yet?”

The man smiled, biting his lip as he nodded his head and held his hand out to the Holmes. “We have met, yeah. On a few occasions actually. Good to see you again, Mycroft.”

Mycroft hesitated, forcing the corners of his lips to still. Even after all of his years sometimes it was still difficult to keep his emotionless reputation. “What brings you here, Detective Inspector?”

   “I heard that the flat was all fixed up! Just popped ‘round to drop off some housewarming booze. It’s sitting on the stairs. I understand Sherlock’s not home, though. Nor is Mrs Hudson.”

   The twisted smirk appeared across Mycroft’s lips once again. “If either were, I would no longer be here myself.”

   “Oh, behave Mycroft,” the old woman scolded. “Martha has always said that you and your brother’s feud is terribly dramatic. Now then, Detective Inspector–”

   “Greg, please.”

   She smiled brightly. “Greg. How is Mrs Lestrade today? Mrs Lestrade has been quite ill, Mr Holmes.”

   He looked as if he couldn’t care less. “Has she now?”

   Greg shrugged. “Pneumonia.”

   Mycroft stood, tightening his grip on the handle of his brolly. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

   “She’s better now,” Greg said, ignoring the Holmes’ sarcasm. “A little weak still–”

   Abigail started toward the kitchen. “I’m going to get you some beef broth to take to her.”

   “Don’t bother, Ms Brewster! You and Mrs Hudson have done so much for her already.”

   “We made it this morning. Sister Martha is taking some to poor Mr Knight right now. I won’t be a minute. Sit down and be comfortable,” she shot Mycroft a look, “both of you” and then disappeared into the kitchen.

   He sighed and sat back into the armchair as Lestrade dropped himself onto the sofa. “She shouldn’t go to all that trouble.”

   “Try to stop her or her sister from doing something nice and you’ll get nowhere. They don’t even care how you vote.” He leaned back into the armchair. “When I received my call to London and moved to Kensington, Sherlock wasn’t well. He had relapsed again and I was doing my best to care for him without informing our parents of what had happened. They would have insisted I bring him home to them, but Sherlock would not let that happen. He wanted his freedom. So, when I got to where I could trust that he wouldn’t immediately run back to the sweeties, I discovered that a former client of his – Mrs Martha Hudson – had a flat for rent. So, I loaned him enough to pay the first six month’s rent and sent him away. Now, if I were to call something pure kindness and generosity, it’s because of Mrs Hudson. God knows Sherlock is a handful, yet she willingly deals with him every day and even gives him a discount on the rent.”

   “So, what’s their tragic flaw?”

   “I beg your pardon?”

   “The sisters, Martha and Abby.” Greg leaned toward him. “Everybody, underneath their massive intellects or pure kindness and generosity, have some sort of major character flaw. Sometimes it’s hidden deep down and sometimes,” he smirked, “it just sits at the surface, letting the whole world know that it’s there.”

   Mycroft ignored his poking fun and thought. Sure, there was marijuana and the exotic dancing in Mrs Hudson’s past, but those weren’t quite flaws that could be considered dark or tragic.

   “Still,” Greg continued, “they are quite charitable. Have more money than you’d expect too.”

   “Yes, I am well acquainted with their charities as well as their wealth.”

   “You don’t know a tenth of it! When I was with the UK Missing Persons Bureau I was trying to trace an old man we that we never did find.” Greg rose to his feet with a sudden burst of energy. “–do you know there’s a renting agency that has 221c downstairs down on its list for furnished rooms? She doesn’t even rent those rooms – but you can bet that anybody who comes here lookin’ for a room goes away with a good meal and probably a few secret dollars in their kick. It’s just her way of digging up some people - other than Sherlock - to do some good to.”

   Both of the men snapped their heads towards the door as it opened, Mrs Martha Hudson stepping into the sitting room. “Well, now, isn’t this nice?”


End file.
